Friday, December 20, 2013

Farewell, diaries

Her name was Anne and she resided in many a notebook in sole objective of laying a faithful ear to my destitute adolescent woes.

Dear Anne,my mom sucks.

(But my mom doesn't really suck.)

Dear Anne,I can't understand why my best friend acts like this.

(And yet maybe nobody could understand me.)

Dear Anne,why do boys never pay attention to me? More importantly, why does HE never pay attention to me?

(And yet he always did.)

It's been about a year since I ditched Anne for the grander scheme of art journaling. And yet I can't absolutely leave her. Sometimes, an epistle in her honour provides comfort such as nothing else can provide.

(I generally finish one notebook per season. That is, my notebooks are tinged with the emotions of "spring" or of "summer" or of "winter." Because that's how my emotions go. With the seasons, that is.)